


Bravery & Deceiption

by GoldenGail3



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Royalty, Slow Burn, Somewhat inspired by Game of Thrones, The Wars of the Roses, Yorks & Lancasters, at least at first
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-07 08:24:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14076864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenGail3/pseuds/GoldenGail3
Summary: At the tale end of the War of the Roses, Prince Edward York, Fifth of his name, is taken to the Tower of London to be executed by hanging on the orders of King Henry Tudor VII alongside his brother, Richard, his twelve year brother and spare hair . At the moment of his demise however, the Prince would find himself in an totally different world - the world of modern England, a new and scary thing indeed for the reborn Prince of England, a world of new ideas and an entirely new language.. and the fact he has no identification or anything really to survive in this new world...Edward in this story shares some simlarities to Edward the Third's son, Edward V, despite him not being a child (he's nineteen - twentisih years old, I do believe). As for land, he retained the title of Duke of York until his death despite being exiled it was not of permanence.





	1. PREQUEL

Edward sat on the rock hard bed of the cell, staring up at the rock hard ceiling with all of the green allege growing up on the top of it like it had no other place to be but to haunt him. He found it rather attractive, knowing that he the former Crown Prince of England managed to got the least used room in the entirety of the Tower itself, with even a small red poppy flower growing right next to his bed, as if to show it's lack of use and care that took place in this part of the Tower of London. Edward touched the delicate red flower, feeling it's wet petals gently against his hand, while thinking the irony of a blue rose being stuck in a room with a red flower. Edward didn't crush it within his hand, feeling it too delicate to do so, and left it alone, pulling his hand back from it to continue to look at the growing green allege on the wall above his head. Edward sighed, pushing himself on top of the hard, stone bed with a sigh, as he pushed the slogging wet pillow that sat on top of the bed onto the ground with a look of disgust in his blue-coloured eyes seeing a plant growing out of the top of it was enough to push it off the bed. It went with a plop on the cold, floor below him.

He stared, closing his head on the hard surface, trying not to think about what fate might have in store for him and he only could speculate this conjured thought he imaged for himself, but he thought he could almost hear the screams of his sister and mother being tortured. Elizabeth was screaming for him to save her from Henry VII as she was raped and pulled away, forced into becoming his wife amongst other things. As for his mother, he imaged the Queen Mother to be stripped of her rank, considering she was a Blue Rose through and through, and sent to forever live in the Tower of London like a common criminal she was in the eyes of the King. But the good thing was, is that his uncle, Richard, died in battle though after taking away his rightful throne after taking it away from him after pulling a King's maker on him like the bastard he was.  _Fuck him, I hope Richard goes to hell for doing that to me while I was out campaigning for allies. As King, I would've done much more but he fucking ruined it by taking away my rightful title like the bloody bastard he was._

He wanted to throw something at his uncle considering the amount of pure and utter hatred he had towards the man, for basically exiling him while he ruled the country. Edward was left worried, but despite it all he didn't think his uncle was a Kinslayer, but than again his poor brother could've died while stuck within the tower of London all those years sense being thrown in it. Edward managed to leave before Richard was capable of doing such things to him, but it left a poor taste in his mouth considering. He wondered if he'd have been shot on sight if Richard was still alive, he wondered because Edward knew himself to be very popular with the common folk, whom screamed his name as he was pulled away to the tower as well as trying to rally to save him from the cart, but with no use it would seem considering he was brought here. 

He could almost image it, envision even, but alas he had nothing else to think about beyond the cold giving this room a more pronounced scent of shit than one was use too in normal circa stances. Edward pulled the half-eaten white blanket over his legs, and put his arm behind his head, before pondering some more if Henry was trying to murder him in other ways beyond being hung for his right to the throne.  _I couldn't fight in this battle because I was off looking for a wife in Burgundy and w_ _hen I returned to England I had no idea that Henry had invaded and successfully conquered England.. I think someone stole my mail that my mum sent because I was without news for weeks on end, and when I returned to England, I was promptly surrounded and taken to the Tower of London. I do suppose I should've stayed in Burgundy, but I had no idea what was going on in England because I was in exile because my uncle forced it upon me a_ _nd I wanted to know as soon as possible for the sakes of my mother, brother and sisters at the very least._

He sighed, he almost wished he had a book to read before his death at the very least considering it was boring to sit in this cell, watching the mold grow more and more with each second he looked at it on the wall. _This was a strategic plan, throwing your opponent in a dungeon while waiting for his execution, I suppose. I think that's we Yorks did to Henry VI. Though we never killed him, we simply left him here to rot. I think it was because he was mad and thought himself made of glass, and we pitted him enough not to kill him even though his court was bad though, but that might be because of his wife, Margaret of Anjou's influence though. I heard his son's worse, wanting war all the time and talks about tearing people's head off like he owned war itself. I do hope he never becomes King._ He'd think to himself, boredly. He could hear screaming outside of his jail, like he expected, although fortunately, this was not his first time being held captive by outside forces. Though they never planned to kill him, fortunately considering their superiors ordered he be let lose from his chain. He had fucked a daughter of a count in France, and suffice to say, her father didn't react well to it, even went as far to threaten him with death for it. Luckily, he wasn't murdered for it, but she was lovely girl and she was no virgin when he fucked her like the whore she was in her room.  _It was glorious and I got away with it because I was most helpful to his superior and they owed me a favour anyhow. Plus she begged I be let loose anyhow, considering I wasn't the one who took her virginity away anyhow. She should've been beaten considering she was a willing whore to begin with. Plus she was just ripe for a good fucking with that large swaying buttock of hers and her flirtatious attiude. She was very, very willing to be fucked, so I gave to it to her. She seemed to enjoy it considering she moaned hopelessly throughout the act of depravity and she gave me a large smile when I was done with her._

Edward sighed, a strong feeling of helpless happened to be developing in his gut. It was so strong, it made him want to puke. This was Henry's worst punishment for him, letting him know nothing about his family and letting him stew over the possibilities of their fates. It was cruel enough thing to do, but overall necessary considering hope was a dangerous thing for a dead man like himself to have.  _Giving a dead man hope is liking giving whiskey to a homeless man. They'd want more of it until it consumed their very being and they just couldn't stop wanting it even if it was irrational. Though I am irrationally hoping Elizabeth, my older sister, is fine though. She deserves a better life than be a man's rape object, considering she's a born Queen, a natural leader. She always inspired me to be my best self, something I've always inspired to be. As for my mum, the dear Lady Elizabeth Woodville, I wanted to see her... one last time.. before I died.._

Edward didn't particularly feel like thinking about his mother less he get upset. He however, was distracted from such thoughts when he heard the sound of large clunky boots clearly stomping in the general direction of his room, he thought. He'd assume it was for him considering he was the only one of any kind of importance in this tower, beyond his brother and Henry VI, but he doubted anyone would want to see the mad King considering he wasn't up to be killed like the two York boys were though. Edward lifted his off the wooden brink, feeling like his neck was going to implode on itself from the amount of time he spent lounging on that uncomfortable thing... and since Edward had no concept of time stuck in this infernal place, he could only estimate it's been a couple of days.  _About a week I've been here. But I've been gone from here since I was eighteen, and during that time I was off fighting as a mercenary in Burgundy where I was a bodyguard for the Duchess of Burgundy for quite s_ _o_ _metime, before my contract expired in a year. I saw some things, but not much, but I have some experience with fighting amongst other things to protect her. And trust me, several attempts have been made on the Duchesses life beforehand, via assassins, though they were never very skilled as much as I and some of the other trainees were. I have been training to be a warrior my entire life, and I'm very good at swordplay so we defeated them and put their skulls on pikes for all of Burgundies enemy's to see that they shall not kill the Duchess as she's well defended and no assassination attempt shall work as she's defended by warriors of great strength._

Edward stood up as the large door swung open and he'd see two guards coming in, with there sliver piked helm and two sliver pikes securely in hand, as if they meant to escort him from the premises. A thing Edward wouldn't like, but would deal with when the peasants swarmed them to death.  _But they do like me that much, considering they shrieked my name and grabbed there pitchforks and tried to save me from that cart all the way to the tower and they're still bagging on that door since, trying to break in to save me even though a fraction of them have been shot down or are being murdered by swords as we speak by the great and mighty king Henry VIII or his men more like it._

"Get up, Prince Edward of York." The first pikeman said, staring at Edward with his demanding emerald-coloured eyes. Although Edward noted both fairly young, about eighteen or nineteen, he'd take a guess but he's listen and stand up slowly, staring at either of them, expectantly, wondering what they were about too. Although Edward would listen to them, and stand up cooperating considering he had nothing else to loose. He stood up off his seat of green grassy moss, and unto the ground of wet stone, and at that, he bristled forward, towards the two men with ease. The two men stared at him, before one of them took one his right hand, and the other placed a well placed pike behind his back, to make sure the prince didn't escape, and walked out of the prison they did, before marching him outside, onto the freezing deck of the tower, before the two men stood on either side of him, to watch over him.

As they walked, another blonde haired child with his father's same blue-coloured eyes came walking up alongside him, a deep look of fear was in the boy's eyes and rightfully so. He wanted to talk to him at least, to comfort Richard considering he looked like he was going to cry considering he had teary eyed looking eyes, a thing Edward wanted to do something about for his own brother's state of mind, at least in his moments of breathing at least, but sadly such things weren't possible considering the guards turned them away from one another, as they walked alongside one another, albeit with heads down while doing so to prevent them from looking at one another.

The pairs eventually found themselves upon a stone platform, although Edward was tempted to run and grab his brother alongside him, he knew such measures would lead to nowhere besides for death eventually, as he scrutinized the situation at hand, with four guards behind them and no escape on either side of the rather large wall facing them. They were fucked, with nowhere else to go besides for the grave. He stared at his brother, or at least tried too before the headsman came, wielding a giant two handed sword, but even as Edward attempted to glance at him, he'd note the man had gigantic metal clunky boots that fell upon a thick hide of flesh, as if he couldn't notice the size of them already, it was obvious he was a large man. 

He knew his brother was shaking, besides him with tears considering he could hear him crying, sobbing actually. He wanted to comfort his brother, tell him everything would be alright and that this wasn't the end, but he knew that would be all for naught. He himself, as the eldest of nineteen winters would show no tears today if he were to die here on the steps of what he could prescribe to be death's door on this block of iron. He would take this as a warrior, like the warrior he was trained to be, the King whom never was, he'd be remembered, he hoped at the least that when he died the country would rise up to save his memory from the likes of Henry VII, though he doubted it privately. The people had their king, that not being him, a sad, unfortunate thing. He wanted to be remembered, not be discarded or his memory betrayed like his own father Edward's was.

He'd close his eyes, feeling the touch of a hard blade on his neck, causing him chills, before finally, at long last, the blade came, none too soon to his neck, killing him where he stood on the platform. It felt like someone had just smashed his neck to some bloody tree somewhere and that he was bleeding out, which he was presumably. Though he was haunted by the look of pure horror on his brother's face as it widened large with tears, a thing he'd carry always with him always, amongst other things. He thought of his brother's face as he faced the gallon. Afterall, his face crying was the last thing he saw before the blade took the life out of him.  _I will always remember him, my brother of mere twelve under the face of death._

As he came to it, after a series of blurry images, he'd find himself in an dark... alleyway of sorts? He wasn't sure, because he had no idea what was going on, because his vision was so blurry and his neck felt it was going to explode. His stomach didn't feel well either from the pain and the confusion of everything, everything was so loud to his ears like someone put him in an armoury with weapons hanging upside, constantly slacking against one another all the time and he was unable to escape from the room of which that was happening. He tumbled around, feeling like he was drunk  _Though I can't see, what's going on? What the fuck is going on? I.. see flying things? Huh. They look like their made of metal of sorts. Better keep away from them, because they're soooo fucking loud. SO LOUD. By god's grace, why are they so loud? What's wrong with the world, my lord?_

He tumbled over, expelling whatever remained of his dreadful meal while holding onto a bar of sorts... It was also made out some of kind of metal, he thought to himself, before feeling dizzy enough to fall onto the ground, like a heap of coil on the cold floor.

He noticed someone was approaching, and by that time, he had closed his head, willing to sleep away the pain of it all. The pain of his skull feeling like it ending, the popping in his ears, the noise drowning out all other sensations, all of it. He wanted it to end, but not before he felt someone grab him and pull him away that he felt falling into a peaceful slumber along with his brother and sister's before it was too late. He closed his eyes however, and darkness fell upon tho, as if it knew it were time to shy away from such things. 


	2. Shakespearan Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward finds himself in a strange monastery, full of odd machinery and a new and improved version of English?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XxRzEXiQ66M - is briefly what Edward would sound at first... (he eventually gets around to sounding German though when he speaks in Modern English more so than Scottish... which he sounds like first...) As for his romance in this, tis is a secret! Also re-writing this chapter because I was wrong on some things so it might take some time..

Edward would dream about his brother's teary face before him. The ere sense of dread coming from him was evident, there on his streaking bloody streaking face, as if his tears were made out of dark red blood, he'd stare at Edward, desperately with those large blue eyes of his. He'd continue to stare at Edward, as if it were all his fault, as he continued to cry out on the wooden chopping block he laid upon, with his hands tied behind his back. The large bulging sword the executioner held was covered in blood on it's shiny hilt, and it was held at the boy's neck, barely just holding it there.  _Edward.... Edward..._ The boy repeated his name over and over into what Edward could attest to his ear considering that's all he could hear besides for the soft voice of a woman besides his ear. 

She had such a nice, warm voice...  _So nice, so warm. I should thank her for healing my wounds..._ He simply couldn't believe his brother died crying like a baby, or was dead really, he couldn't accept it, that his little brother whom was usually so kind and sweet was well and truly gone from this world..  _Not that way. I need to speak to them about him, to see if my brother's alright. If I'm fine, than I'm sure he is too._ Edward thought hopefully, opening his eyes to the world before him, with all of it's delicate lights, he almost saw the Lord come forth to heaven to greet him through the strange equipment above his head, with all of it's light, as If it were embracing him, telling him everything was going to be just fine in his light and glory. Afterall, he just felt the light be snuffed out of him; was this heaven in all of it's glory?  _If so, I embrace thee Lord, though in the past life I was less devout than I should've been to you my Lord._

He wondered on this, as he sat upon the strange bed of the rather strange monastery with all of its strange equipment placed everywhere.  _Am I in a foreign country? Huh, but I remember just being on the Tower of London with my brother.. Where is Richard anyhow?_ Edward was in a state of confusion - what place was he? This strange monastery had strange lighting above his head and other strange equipment's like that flashy thing with words on it. He'd also note that there were both nuns and priests in the same area - all of whom were all dressed in the same simple-white coloured shirts that held short sleeves and long pants that extended until it hit their unusually shoes they wore, of which had ties and were of several different colours.

However strange this nunnery might be, he considered this to be god's work to allow him to live on this plane of existence - even though it wasn't exactly how he envisioned heaven in it's finery details  _I always expected I might see Richard, running up to me, begging me to tell him a story while my mother and father in their infinite wisdom, and thy lord stare upon us with pride in his eyes, knowing that he reunified our house in his name._ But he did owe the people here a thank you, for saving his life.. How did they do so anyhow? He so vividly remembered his demise at the hands of the large woolly man that was the Executioner, right down to the cold feeling in the dawn of the morning blowing against his somewhat red cheeks at the time. How did they manage to save his life from the ax? Were they angels coming down froth heaven? Anyhow, he thought about as he lay solid on the firm bed he found himself on to begin with. Much things that needed answering where in order, but first he needed to think, get his head together, before he did anything too rash considering he found himself in a quite a predicament.  

 _Too many questions at once time, but this is what God intended to me to endure in his holy light?_ He knew it had to be so, because God was always watching him no matter what he did, and his entire life was in the Lord's ever gentle reach. He however, needed to ask the lady Nurse, with her red-coloured vibrant hair and blue-coloured eyes something, and as she stood in the office next to his, writing on some kind of computer, with a smile on her face. He'd note this, as he decided to sit off the side of the simple white coloured bed with wheels. 

He'd note that he was wearing a purple-coloured shirt and pants similarly to the ones they wore, but the fabric of it was most odd.  _How did they find the funds to buy purple to begin with? I've never wore the purple of the rare and precious snail from the city port of Tyre. Not even my bloody father wore the colour, nor any one else for that matter and we're royalty. I guess the pope in his infinite wisdom gave them the coin to be able to do so but I'm not sure why though why. Maybe they're excellent healers with a reputation that surpasses all other churches in healings and blessing given upon though, but I would've heard about it if that were the case. I don't like being kept in the dark, so I do truly need the name of this establishment In all of it's glory._

Edward also stared at the wall, with all the posters labelling the different parts of the human antimony. He however, could understand what was being said on that particular poster and found it fascinating - human anatomy was something in his home school he was never taught much about, besides for the dangers of getting the Black Plague that hounded Europe to the brick. He was quite fortunate to never obtain the wicked plague himself considering he travelled about Germania at a time where the Plague was at a all time, but he's seen many man die of the plague right before his eyes, and he's seen towns burn to cinder to rid themselves of the filthy scent of the Plague and all of it's unfortunate carriers. He's seen entire towns full of carts, full of dirty unwashed peasants, being burned away like cinder right in front of him and he always remembered the smell of blood and disease ridden folk's flesh being torn off their bodies by the fire. It was such a putrid notion, that Edward himself preferred not to think on the plague - considering he was indeed forced to by the Duchess to kill off any with the plague in her borders, and as such, he's had to do very unpleasant things to the weak and innocent amongst them due to them having the dreaded plague. He was quite fortunate never to have it himself,  _I was never touched by God's Wrath. He wanted for me to go to heaven, not hell, I suppose._

He wondered if anyone in the monastery carried the plague with them - albeit, it was a secondary fear he felt, it was still something to ponder on. He needed to find Richard now, no matter the cost nor the expense of it. It didn't matter to him, in God's Light, he knew he'd find his brother, safe and sound just like he was in this rather strange and unusual nunnery. God always provided the way to salvage, no matter the cost. He'd look around him, to the floor underneath his large, athletic feet. It was white and cold to the touch, he'd think as he placed his feet on the ground underfeet. But it bothered him not, but it was so shiny he could see his own reflection mixed on with the dirt floor. He knew he had those same shiny blue eyes, as his father's and brother's before him, and they shined with bright curiosity of the situation made before him. He smirked, the floor reminded him vaguely of church wood he'd see in a place like this. But he had other things to ponder on rather than his reflection upon this rather shiny flooring. 

He wanted to investigate the name of this church and it's community - though, he did think he was in England though, even if he didn't know where this place was in England. He thought himself, that it was highly unlikely that somehow, someone pulled him out of the Tower of London when he was heavily under guard and everyone knew of his identity at the time - the chances that they could do such a feet would be slim to none, he'd suppose. So he wondered what exactly transpired to end himself here, even though he knew to himself that he was injured, he wondered how he escaped the Tower without anyone noticing.  _I suppose I was in God's favour, but why do I still remember me dying? I can still feel the sharpness of that blade against my soft neck and I felt my life slip away from me, into an never ending void of darkness and decay. Like I went to Hell and back again with pain. Maybe this is truly Heaven? Though I'm not sure yet, maybe._

He called over for the red haired nun sitting at the desk, staring at her phone, "My Lady, where am I?" He wondered, calling over to her in his naïve English tongue. He hoped they could speak English, considering he could hear quite them saying English phrases outside of this door, quite loudly in fact. Everyone here spoke English, he'd assume. Though he found their accents to be strange considering he's never heard such an accent before in his short lifetime of Nineteen years old.

"Ohh, you're awake! I'm so sorry I didn't notice.." She looked truly shocked, with her big poppy brown-coloured eyes and those luxurious red-coloured lips...  _Damn it Edward, she's a bloody nun she's not yours to do that too. She belongs to the Lord himself. I may as respect her as one of his apostles, considering she worships him in his finest._

He nodded slowly, "Rhiannon, your name is?" He inquired, staring at her bright name tag on her also rather luxurious breast. He felt his eyes widening,  _I'm thinking unholy things about a woman of faith._ As he stared upon 

She nodded, standing up from her push up chair to have a good look at him, with a smile playing on her delicate lips, "You've been out for weeks John, I mean we found you on Shakespeare avenue, wearing some odd clothing that seem to come just right of Medieval history. I mean... What's your name first off?" She sounded very polite, and sincere.

He didn't know what that supposed medieval history was but he was glad to be changed out of those bloody prisoner clothing though. "My dearest, care to answer my question first?" He didn't understand half of the things she told him just than - how come she, the woman, didn't know his bloody rank? He was Heir Apparent of England and Duke of York, a very important character in mind - his name wasn't John, or what have you. If anything, this nun should be referring to himself as His Higness and not stare of at him as if he were a nobody - even people in Burgandy knew of his lawful title and rank, before his uncle attempted to de-legitimise his claim as heir on the accounts of not looking like his father, but Edward always thought it was because his mother was of a lowly rank rather than his appearance, and he did look like the late Edward IIII, he had the same dirty blonde locks of he did, and the same startling blue eyes as his father. It was enough that attempts to de-legitimise him failed flat upon its feet, and enough to keep him as Duke, even though his uncle choice to take advantage of him being gone at the same time as his father's passing though. 

"Oh, your in the Queen Elizabeth II's hospital. Didn't you know?" _A bloody Queen?_ He was actually wondering if he was still in London, because a Queen Regnant, a woman shouldn't rule because she could produce babies, and she was needed to be the caretaker of them to insure they got to adulthood, and it was in God's wish for them to be the givers of life. But he knew he shouldn't underestimate woman - the Duchess of Burgundy was by all means, an extremely powerful woman and she did it with the strength of any male monarchy but even she had weaknesses, despite her wealth and power. She was far less powerful than the might of the warring France, of whom was off declaring war somewhere in the world  _Especially against us, the English, even if we were done with the long lasting war with them that Henry V ended, although albeit in lost though for us though._ _They still held a grudge against us, and it was made worse by my father refusal to marry that French Princess. He undid many things by marrying a commoner_ _of a mother, which made Warwick, a former loyal House York supporter, into a traitorous dog of whom wagged his tail in the direction of the woman he once was mortal against, Margret of Anjou. I know of this, because of reports of Margret and her son, Edward of Lancaster, were always seen as a prevalent danger during my childhood and my father was always on the outlook for dangers regarding me and my siblings. He had come to power at a very young age, so he was wary of the same fate happening to me if he was ever slain in battle or by other means..._

The Duchess Melisandre D' Burgundy, was the only child of Charles D' Burgundy, of whom died of the dreaded gonerrea a year prior to him arriving at the court - she was a short, young little thing of about the age of sixteen, and even though she was beautiful with long jet-black coloured hair that fell upon her knees, and even after he attempted and succeeded at courting her, she still refused to marry him.  _It was a shame the Dutchess did. I may have grown to truly love a woman like her, smart and intelligent and wonderful in the bed, I might add._ He wondered about her, from time to time - her slender figure was there, in his mind like a tick. Her breasts, as small and perky as they were, still felt amazing in his hands, as he dealt with them, causing her to gently laugh and tell him off for it. He supposed he might have gotten her pregnant before he left, though he had no way of knowing because she married a third son of a French count before he left, presumably to make him leave before he stay happily in Burgundy for life though, without care about what happened in England. 

He however, got over her in that Tower, he supposed. He had time to think about Melisandre - she was a cruel woman despite her beauty and warmth surrounding her, she didn't want to marry him because she knew that if she did, than her children that came forth from her womb would also have his name of York and that was non negotiable, but he missed her for her warmth, and gentle spirt despite her being a person of power, she was the strongest woman he had ever seen. With those big flattering emerald-green coloured eyes of hers, 

"What's a hospital?" He genuinely didn't know what one was - though a nunnery or a church came in mind when he thought about such things however. So this was a new discovery to him, but he'd assume it was a medical facility of sorts though considering he saw a painting of the human antimony hanging on the wall - or he'd assume it to be so. It was nothing new or unique to him, such facilities existed all across Europe even though Doctors only saw those richer kin forcing the rest of the lower class to visit monasteries for medical treatment due to the Black Plague existence.

She stared at him as if he were insane but continued, "My name is Nurse Rhiannon Baker and a hospital is a place where we take in patients and take care of them - like yourself, of whom suffered through some severe shock, and others that suffer through sickness and other disorders that affect life as a whole." Her description sounded like a monastery, with their midwives and doctors, though they had a court Doctor privy to their titles as nobility although he's never heard of disorders though, that was a new thing too. This 'hospital' was odd.  _Or whatever the fuck this is. It could be anything, but best not to be hysterical until I know everything._

He nodded at her, before removing himself from the bed, and walking towards her, staring at her, wondering if she really was a nun at this time - he assumed she was, because of the uniform she wore so clearly, but he could see men.. dressed In the same uniform, along with the woman down the hall, as they ran with them on the strange wheels carpeted things, similar to the one he was sitting upon. His eyes widened, a monastery or a nunnery only had females or males - the two never mixed sexes, unless a monk became the head of a Nunnery, this.. didn't happen in a normal church.

"Thank you, my goodwoman Baker, but I have a task of finding my brother.." He stared at the strange machinery in front of him, with her holding it upon the strange swirling black-coloured leather looking chair she sat upon in a slouching position. What was that? What was going on in the country he spent his entire life protecting? 

He was wondering what God in his glory, did to him? Was he being punished for the unforeseen sin of having a relationship with the maiden Melisandre of Burgundy, even though they both lost their virginity that night under the stars - it was just under his guise to take his actions as a way of a sinner though he still remembered feeling the life suck out of him - he should've married her under the guise of god, not take her out to one of the long pastures with the large, extending maple tree that felt as though had been there for ages without an end and was seemly as old as God itself to grow into the massive tree it was. He shouldn't have taken her away from her ladies in waiting, though he knew she waited for him in her chambers that day, and they even fought together in a racing competition together the very same day, though the dearest lady won that match and laughed at him playfully she did. They were both unmarried, so it mattered not - but he always would remember the scent of her lavender perfume and the way she laughed at him as she fell into his arms after the match, teasing him with her warm body. 

He however, needed to leave this place at once.. if this was indeed England...

"Darling, you should relax you look very pale, you should sit down.." The woman said, staring at him. 

"I... I need to leave, right now."  _Where the bloody fuck am I?_ The strange machinery was staring him straight at the face, from the way the strange...what were those pictures? They were talking - absolutely ridiculous and not to mention, they showed the most outlandish things.  _It's so outlandish, but keep your mind clear Edward. Keep it clean, this what God wants for you. This is His righteous journey for me, I just know it to be true._

"Now sir, you need to sign this." In her arms she held a notebook with words upon it. He didn't understand not a single word on it, and yet he was proficient in understanding in six different languages upon paper - that being; English, German, French, Greek, Spanish and Latin. If he couldn't understand it, than there must been a problem.  _Though I am a native English speaker.._ He held the paper in his hand, trying to depicter it. Honestly, it was like trying to read an Egyptian tablet, something he had tried doing before with his scholar Erik. He remembered slapping Erik for giving him that, because it was a complete undephicerable piece of a tablet nowhere near any of the other languages he understood prior. Erik made the excuse it was close to Latin, but it was nowhere near close to bloody Latin...

"What does it say? I don't understand it, woman..." Now he was becoming aggravated, he was a Prince! A Prince of England! Although his uncle tried to strip him of that honour, legally he was. Not to mention, he was suppose to be well educated in these things.

"Uh, sir... You need to calm down." She stated, matter of factly before attempting to settle him down.

Now he was done, he threw the bloody paper on the floor and stopped off, without a regard he wasn't wearing any shoes upon the shiny floor. It was cold without a doubt, but he spent a great chuck of his childhood running around in the snow outside of his father's castle with his sister. He pushed past towards her regardless of her complaint and sigh, and went down the hall, ignoring the hussle and bussle of it all. One thought was in his head the entire time.  _My brother Richard..._

**Author's Note:**

> He speaks Old English but since nobody would understand a single word he said, I figured why not make him just translate his words to Modern English so everyone can understand.


End file.
